


Bridges Over Troubled Water

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Cranky!Owen, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the first anniversary of the Battle of Canary Wharf, it's anything but business as usual around the Hub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridges Over Troubled Water

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Torchwood: S1.04--"Cyberwoman"; S2.01--"Kiss Kiss Bang Bang"; Doctor Who: Series 3.09 "Utopia"
> 
> This story contains some passing references to details in other stories of mine. It's not necessary to have read them to understand this at all. But if you're interested, the pranks Owen and Ianto play on each other are detailed in the ["Hub Wars"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/855193/chapters/1636837) series of drabbles. The times Owen visited Ianto in his flat are described in ["House Call to Purgatory"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/530373) and ["Shoot Something and Call Me in the Morning."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/530376)

 

July 5, 2007, 06:54  
  
Owen opened one bleary eye and peered at the clock.

‘ _The fuck... that can't be right._ ' He opened both eyes.

“Shit!”

He sat upright and groaned as the world tilted to the left. He rubbed his eyes to give it a chance to right itself, then slid out of bed, muttering curses. He'd meant to be early to work, but the alarm, which he distinctly remembered setting just before crashing the night before, hadn't gone off.

“Never does when I really need it to, useless piece of crap,” Owen observed, scooping a pair of jeans and his cleanest dirty hoodie from the floor. He downed two cold glasses of water from the bathroom tap, followed by a handful of Paracetamol and some more water. He had a quick shave, made a cursory pass at cleaning his teeth, dressed, and was out the door.

When he arrived at the Hub, he was pleased to see that it was dimly lit and no one seemed to be around. Perfect. He wanted no witnesses for what he was about to do.

They'd all know it had been him anyway, of course, once the deed was done, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that no one suspected anything beforehand. Especially Ianto, who seemed to have eyes everywhere.

Ianto. This was all about Ianto, that supercilious bastard, who was so fawning when Jack was around and so smug when he wasn’t.

Ianto, who had released cockroaches in his desk, when he knew Owen had a “thing” about the little buggers—OK, they really creeped him out, nothing wrong with that! Ianto, who had constructed a precarious mountain of furniture on his autopsy table and left a cranky Myfanwy to guard it, then took the rest of the team out for lunch. It had taken the better part of an hour to lure the peevish Pterodactyl away with the promise of treats, a lot of cajoling to get her to eat the drugged chocolate, and the rest of the afternoon to pull down the pile without creating an avalanche that would crush him. He'd gotten exactly zero help from the Team and wound up late for his date with the French exchange student to boot.

Never mind that Owen had gotten in some pretty good pranks of his own, excellent ones, actually--Ianto just never seemed to learn his lesson and continued to try to one-up him. This time, Owen was determined to get Ianto where it would really hurt—his hair.

That poncy git kept his own high-end shampoo and conditioner--conditioner!--at the Hub. Both would soon contain a powerful bleaching agent guaranteed to turn dark brown hair bright orange. Owen knew it would work—he had created the concoction himself when he was a teenager. He had visions of going blond, but had wound up looking more like a pumpkin than Brad Pitt. He'd learned a valuable lesson that day about not experimenting on himself. And about the value of a cheap box of brown hair dye.

Owen bounded down the metal stairs to the sublevel where the locker room was, already picturing the horror on Ianto's face when he realized that his soft brown waves had been transformed into an orange Brillo pad.

Grinning, he entered the tiled room, and then froze. Ianto was already there.

Owen darted behind a wall of lockers, where he could see without being seen. Ianto was peering into the mirror and didn't seem to have noticed him. The younger man had a towel wrapped around his waist and was busy tracing the faint white scars on his chest with his fingertips. There were half a dozen of them, ranging from a couple that were barely visible to a nasty jagged affair nearly eight centimeters long.

 _'Souvenirs of Canary Wharf,'_ the medic thought, recalling with a jolt that today was the anniversary of that debacle.

_‘Fuck!’_

Owen crept away, the bottle of bleach suddenly heavy in his pocket.

  
  
 _11:25_  
  
Jack hadn't come out of his office all morning. The Team could see the lights on behind the closed blinds, and an occasional shadow passing in front of the window, but the door had remained firmly shut. He wasn't on the comms, and all of his calls went to voice-mail.

Everyone knew that meant “Do not disturb.” Usually in such situations they sent Ianto up to deal with him when it had gone on too long, but Ianto was nowhere to be found either.

Gwen was getting annoyed. She was working on some pet project of hers that Owen didn’t even pretend to care about, and kept running into dead ends. At last that’s what he had deduced from the sounds coming from her area. Buried in his own research, Owen had ignored the muttering, loud sighs and the occasional slamming of a drawer that signaled her frustration. She grew harder to ignore when she started pacing back and forth.

Gwen finally came to a halt beside Tosh’s workstation.

“Tosh, I need the access code to the database containing Torchwood’s internal memos from 1900-1950. The one with the unedited scans. I’ve only got the redacted versions and there’s not enough information there to finish my report.”

“I'm sorry, Gwen, but Jack has to authorize that.”

Gwen cast a significant glance at Jack’s shuttered windows. Though she prided herself on her ability to challenge their leader, even she knew there were limits.

“Well, there’s no need to disturb him, is there? You can just pull the information for me.”

 **“** No, I can't. I’m sorry. Jack made that database and everything in it ‘need to know’ only. And he's the only one who decides who needs to know.”

“I'm just trying to do my job,” Gwen huffed.

“I understand that, Gwen,” Tosh said patiently. “But as Jack would say, “Rules and regulations.”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Gwen  huffed, then glanced around the room. She walked over to where Owen sat hunched at his desk, trying not to be noticed, and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“I bet _you_ can get the memos for me,” she essayed. Her breasts brushed against his back as she leaned over to speak in his ear.

Owen closed his eyes, savoring the seductive softness for a moment. Their affair had imploded months ago, and he knew he was better off without her. Hell, they both were both better off. After the initial rush of excitement had dissipated they’d done nothing but make each other miserable. But he was still a man, after all, and his body responded predictably.

Owen opened his eyes and scooted his chair forward, out of reach. “Nope, sorry. I don't have clearance.”

“Really?” Gwen sounded doubtful.

“Really. I am most definitely _not_ on a need-to-know basis with that database. Though we did go out on a couple of dates, I was heavily chaperoned at the time. And glad of it. It's some of the most mind-numbing, pretentious drivel you could ever imagine. And I read medical journals in my spare time!”

“Someone else has to have access besides Jack and Tosh. Where's Ianto?”

“He’s busy,” said Tosh, at the same time as Owen answered, “Don’t know.”  They glanced at each other, and a look of understanding passed between them.

 _‘She remembers too,’_ Owen realized, then mentally smacked himself in the head. _‘Of course she does, you idiot. She’s Tosh, she remembers everything. She probably bought a sympathy card weeks ago’._

“That's helpful!” Gwen snorted.  “How is anyone supposed to get anything done around here?”

“I'd wait for Jack,” Tosh said, returning her gaze to her screen.

“Come on, Tosh! You know what Jack's like when he gets in one of these moods. We might not see him all day. And I need to get this finished now!”

“I’m sorry, Gwen. I really am. But there’s nothing I can do.”

Gwen looked up at Jack's office, and then gazed around the work area.

“I'm going to find Ianto,” she declared, and headed for the doors leading to the sub-levels.

Owen stood and cut her off.

“I’ve got an idea, Gwen. Why don't we go get a burger or something? It’s almost lunchtime.”

She stared at him. “We always order lunch in,” she said, her eyebrows narrowing with suspicion. He had once found that expression endearing, thinking it a charming holdover from her police days. Now he just found it annoying. She hadn’t been a copper for over a year, but some traits endured, he supposed.

“I thought we'd mix things up a bit today. Come on. I'll buy you a pint.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

Gwen looked down at the hand, then back up at Owen's face, and smiled.

“Yeah, all right. It's been awhile since you and I talked.”

Owen winced inwardly at the last word, but took Gwen's arm and led her to the door.

As the cog wheel opened, he glanced back, and saw Tosh watching him with a grateful expression on her face. He gave her a brief nod in return.

 _‘Ianto’s so gonna owe me,’_ he thought, even though he knew he’d never collect.

  
  
 _11:55_  
  
Tosh X’d out the screen she’d been staring at and sighed. She’d thought she’d finally be able to make some headway with work when she was alone, but that hadn’t been the case. She’ had stared at the same screen of alien runes until it had gone blurry and her eyes had watered, but she couldn’t make sense out of them. Her intuition was telling her that she’d seen that pattern somewhere before, but she couldn’t place where. And neither could the Alien Language Translation (ALT) program. It clearly still had some bugs in it, and she couldn’t find those either.

About the only thing she’d accomplished this morning was keeping the world away from Ianto. At least that was something.

The moment she’d seen him, she’d sensed he needed his space. He had been getting out their coffee mugs and nearly jumped out of his skin when she’d greeted him, and that wasn’t like Ianto at all. Normally he was unflappable, as well as impossible to sneak up on.

She’d been the one to suggest that they close the Tourist Office “in memory of those we lost”, and he’d agreed with a grateful little smile, then disappeared downstairs.

As the morning progressed, she had answered his phone and kept Gwen out of his hair. She thought she’d have to do the same with Owen, but thankfully he had seemed to understand without being told. Jack remained holed up as well, and for that Tosh was thankful.

Gwen, however, was a different story. She had seemed pleasant enough when she’d arrived at work but that had gone downhill fast. She had had a lousy morning, and seemed intent on taking it out on the rest of them.

  _‘She wasn’t part of Torchwood this time last year, but can she really be that oblivious to what’s going on around here?’_ Tosh thought.

Tosh herself had been wound tightly all day, waiting for Jack to snap, or Ianto to break, or even, though intellectually she knew it wasn’t likely, another alien attack. It was hard to believe the other woman was so concerned with missing memos on a day like this.

To be fair, Gwen hadn’t seen the devil Jack had become last year when the extent of the tragedy became known. He had charged around the Hub, a whirlwhind of rage at his London counterparts and impotent frustration that he hadn’t been able to help, and nothing anyone could say could get him to calm down. Equipment had been smashed. Harsh words had been said. They’d forgiven him because they knew it was really himself he was angry at, but it had still been difficult to endure.

Gwen also hadn’t seen how haunted Owen and Suzie had been when they’d returned from scavenging the ruins of Torchwood Tower. They looked like they’d aged a decade in a day.

Gwen did know, however, that Ianto was a survivor of the burning of Torchwood Tower, and that his girlfriend Lisa had survived too—for a time. You’d have thought she’d have enough common sense not to bug him about something Tosh had already said no one on the staff was allowed to do. Perhaps being nearly “upgraded” by Lisa had killed some of Gwen’s compassion for her and Ianto. Who knew? Maybe the driven woman was channeling her feelings into work. Tosh could certainly understand that

Yes, she should cut Gwen some slack, she supposed. Everyone dealt with tragedy differently. Tosh herself had lost a former classmate in the disaster, and even she couldn’t really imagine what anyone who had actually physically survived the attack was going through.

Speaking of Ianto, now that the coast was clear, she should go check on him. Giving him space was one thing. Leaving him alone to stew for hours was another. She checked the clock and was startled to see what time it was. Yes, definitely time to visit Ianto.

Tosh found him in the Reading Room of the Archives, curled on leather sofa with his feet tucked under him. At her approach, he swung his legs to the floor and made to rise.

“Tosh. How can I help you?”

She waved at him to stay put and sank down next to him. “I came to listen to the news coverage with you. If that’s all right.”

There was to be a memorial service at St. Paul’s for the survivors and the families.

Ianto had declined to attend, saying it was “too soon” for him to return to London. Neither did he want to see the memorial program that would air on the telly, knowing it would be full of lies about the “terrorists” that the government had claimed poisoned the water supply and burned down the Tower.  But he’d expressed interest in listening to the radio coverage, and the lead-in to the moment of silence that the country would observe.

Ianto glanced at Tosh, then at the vintage cabinet radio set up on the table next to him.

 “Of course. Seeing as how you were the one that got it working in the first place, you’re  entitled to come listen to it whenever you want.”

Tosh smiled fondly at the memory of the day she’d spent with Ianto, repairing the 1930’s thermionic valve, or vacuum tube, radio. He had spent hours lovingly restoring the woodwork of the cabinet while she’d installed alien tech to ensure that it not only worked in their underground base, but also picked up signals never dreamed of by its inventors, including extraterrestrial ones.

“You helped. Besides, that’s not what I meant,” Tosh said softly, and Ianto looked away.

“I know.” He swallowed hard, the movement of his Adam’s apple just visible above his starched collar and the Full Windsor knot of his tie.

“If you’d rather be alone, just tell me. I’ll understand.”

“No, that’d be nice, actually. If you stayed. Would you like something to drink? There’s no coffee down here, but I’ve got an assortment of soft drinks, bottled water, even some beer, in the mini-fridge.”

“Brought my own,” said Tosh with a smile, holding up her mug. “And some biscuits to go with it. Care for one?”

“Ah, no thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“All right then.” Tosh opened the package and pulled out a biscuit, while Ianto sipped from a bottle of water. Silence fell, but it was a comfortable one.

Ianto set down his bottle. “It’s almost time.”

He fiddled with the dials on the radio, eliciting a screech of static at first. Then the grave tones of a BBC announcer filled the room, describing the arrival of the mourners at St. Paul’s.

As they listened, Tosh thought of her former classmate, a brilliant hardware engineer who had been recruited right out of Uni by Torchwood London. They’d kept in touch by email and occasional visits at first, but then drifted apart as their lives took different paths.  His body had never been found.

Tosh grieved for the young man he had been, so talented, and on fire to change the world through systems engineering. He’d been so excited by the opportunity to work for Torchwood with the advanced technology it was rumored to have.

Ianto glanced at Tosh, then took out his pocket square and handed it her. She took it and dabbed at her eyes. When he made to withdraw his hand, she took it in her own and held it. He didn’t resist.

During the moment of silence, he squeezed so hard it hurt.

 

  
 _13:15_

Tosh left with a parting hug and an invitation to "come talk anytime." Ianto switched off the radio and realized that he was exhausted. Every muscle in his body ached, as though he'd been moving the couch up and down the stairs all day rather than merely sitting on it. He sighed and buried his face in his hands.

He had wanted to weep a few times during the program, but felt unable to do so. It wasn’t because of Tosh’s presence, though he was loath to show vulnerability in front of others if he could help it. He was actually grateful she had stopped by, more so than he could express in words. No, he had held back because he had the sinking feeling that once started to cry, he’d never stop. That terrified him.

Ianto realized that he was tired of skulking alone in the basement. He needed more company. Specifically, he needed Jack’s company. And he knew, with that sixth sense he had with regards to other people, that Jack needed him as well. He hadn’t heard from the man all day, and paradoxically, that’s how he was certain. It was when the Captain _wasn’t_ barking orders or making endless requests for coffee or special treats, or just generally being an attention hound, that you knew something was really wrong.

Ianto had noticed that Jack seemed to need him a lot more than he used to since he’d returned from his trip with the Doctor.

He stood, tossed his water bottle into the recycling bin, shot his cuffs and straightened his tie, and headed upstairs. Tosh and Owen were at their workstations in the main area of the Hub. Tosh smiled as he walked by. Ianto nodded back, and made to climb the stairs to Jack’s office.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, mate,” Owen called. “The Boss is on a bit of a rampage at the moment.”

Ianto turned and saw the medic gazing at him with such concern that he got choked up. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself. After a moment, he managed a weak smile and a brief head shake in Owen’s direction. He took another step upward.

“Fine, it’s your funeral.” Owen said.

“Owen!” whispered Tosh sharply, but Ianto smiled to himself. He already felt so strange--like he was inhabiting another person’s body that was too heavy for him. It would make things even more surreal if Owen started being _nice_ to him.

He and the medic had had their good moments, to be sure. Owen had showed his more caring side during Ianto’s suspension and in the aftermath of the Cannibals fiasco, to name two. But that had been in the privacy of Ianto’s flat. At work he stayed the same snarky, prank-playing, condescending crank he’d always been. Ianto didn’t need, or want, that to change now.

“I’m OK, guys. Really,” Ianto said, and headed upstairs.

As Ianto approached Jack’s office door, he heard raised voices. He couldn’t make out all the words, but “Cybermen” “Daleks” “arrogance,” and “jeopardized the whole planet” stood out. Ianto sighed, too weary to worry about the consequences of interrupting Jack in one of his tirades, and opened the door.

Gwen was standing in front of the desk, bravely facing down a red-faced, wildly gesticulating Captain. She turned when the door opened, and Ianto saw how pale she’d gone. Her freckles stood out in livid relief against her skin.

“Oh, Ianto,”’ she cried. “I didn’t realize just how bad it was. I mean, you lot told me it was aliens who attacked Canary Wharf and not terrorists, but I never dreamed the extent of…”

“It’s fine, Gwen,” Ianto said, stepping forward. His voice, to his surprise, sounded almost normal.

“No, it’s not. I really should have… I’m so sorry. All those people dead, and you lost your girlfriend, and it was all Torchwood’s fault!  No wonder we don’t have anything to do with the survivors.”

Ianto glanced at Jack over Gwen’s shoulder. The man had frozen in mid-rant, and now seemed to be deflating, the anger draining out of him. He looked a little like a balloon someone had let the air out of.

Ianto turned back to Gwen. “Jack cut off ties with London before Canary Wharf, actually. He foresaw that their attitude of ‘If it’s alien, it’s ours’ could only lead to trouble.”

‘ _And he’s felt guilty about it ever since,_ ’ Ianto added mentally.

Gwen turned back to Jack. “And Jack, you lost someone too. I really don’t know what to say!”

“Turns out she’s fine,” Jack said stiffly.

Ianto started inwardly, though outwardly his expression didn’t change. Rose Tyler was alive? He hadn’t known that. Jack must have discovered this during his recent trip with the Doctor. That was good news indeed, though he couldn’t help but be a little angry, recalling how the loss of Rose Tyler had precipitated so many of Jack’s dark moods over the past year. And for what?

“Thank you, Gwen,” Ianto said. “I know we both appreciate it. Now if you’ll just give me and Jack some time alone, I’ll come look up as many old internal memos as you want when we’re done.”

“Oh, Ianto!”  Gwen flung her arms around him and hugged him tight. He stiffened at first, then allowed himself to relax and give her gentle squeeze in return.

She titled her head back. “But how did you know about the memos? Did one of them tell you?” She waved her hand to indicate the work area below.

“I know everything, Gwen. Remember?”

She laughed, planted a kiss on Ianto’s cheek, and then left, closing the door behind her.

Ianto looked at Jack, whose furious expression had morphed into something much more vulnerable now that his anger was past, and wished he really did know everything. Or at least what to do in a situation like this. He was hurting, Jack was hurting, and the space between them might have well have been an ocean, it felt so vast at the moment.

All he could think of was how much he wanted to go around the desk and put his arms around Jack. So that’s what he did.

Jack pulled him into a bear-hug so tight Ianto thought his spine might break. He rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder and hugged him back, savoring the feel of Jack's broad back under his fingertips, warm and solid under crisp cotton. Ianto breathed in the light musk of Jack's futuristic pheremones--once exotic, now familar, but always enticing--and felt his body relax. For the first time in a day spent feeling like he was on the verge of flying apart or crumbling into little pieces that might never be put back together again, he felt like things might be all right. The tears he’d been unable to shed earlier welled up in his eyes.

Jack felt Ianto shudder in his arms and leaned his head back to peer at him.

“Hey,” he said softly, brushing an errant tear off Ianto’s cheek with his thumb. “Hey. Are you all right?”

Ianto shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m all over the map today,” he sniffed.

“Tell me about it,” Jack said. It was probably meant to be a statement of agreement, more along the lines of “I know” than “Tell me more,” but Ianto didn’t care. Suddenly he needed to talk.

“One minute I’m fine, just sort of numb, then the next I’m afraid I’m going to burst into tears and it’s all I can do to hold it together. Then I’m numb again, and then I’m so anxious I’m nervous wreck. It’s very unsettling.”

Jack’s sympathetic chuckle was a rumble against Ianto’s ear. “I hear you. What are you even doing here today? You shouldn’t be.”

“Well, the Cyberman and the Daleks tried their best, but they failed, Sir.” Ianto said.

“Ianto!” Jack chucked again, with more humor this time. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.  Come here.” Jack pulled away, took Ianto’s arm, and guided him to a chair. Ianto sank into it gratefully.

Jack stood over him. “I told you that you could have off today,” he chided, putting his hands on Ianto’s shoulders.

“I know. But I wanted—I needed--to be useful. Today of all days. And I tried, Sir. But it was harder to concentrate than I thought it would be.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair. “Useful? To Torchwood?  It doesn’t deserve it.”

The bitterness in Jack’s voice made Ianto wince. “Useful to you, Sir. And to the Team.  You, and they, _do.”_

Jack perched heavily on the side of his desk.

“ _They_ might. The Team. But I don’t.”

Ianto demurred, but Jack charged on. “I really don’t. I should have stopped Hartman, I should have found a way. Nearly eight-hundred deaths and I didn’t do a damn thing to prevent it.”

“There was nothing you could have done, Sir.” Suddenly it was Ianto consoling Jack and not the other way around, but that was par for the course for this emotional roller-coaster of a day.

“Oh, hell, Ianto! I tell myself that all the time. So why doesn’t it feel like it?”

Ianto shrugged, not having an answer to that. He’d spent plenty of time playing the “what if” game himself in the year that had passed since Lisa’s death.

_What if he and the other employees that had felt uneasy about the Ghost Shifts had banded together and done something instead of burying their fears in work and in being duitful employees? What if he and Lisa had accepted the invitation to visit her cousin in Washington D.C. for the Independence Day festivities instead of declining? What if they’d simply overslept on July 5th, like Lisa’s supervisor, one of the other 27 survivors, had?_

_What if, what if?_ He’d finally given it up out of sheer exhaustion, not because he’d found any answers.

“I don’t know, Sir. I only know it doesn’t help to keep blaming yourself. It doesn’t bring anyone back and you just end up using up so much of your energy that you can’t help the living, either.”

“That’s very wise of you, Ianto Jones.”

“It should be. A very wise man said it to me.” Ianto smiled sadly at Jack

 “Me?”

Ianto nodded.

“I said that? Damn, I’m good.”

“Well, it wasn’t Owen, Sir. I believe his advice, when I was feeling particularly down one day right after my suspension, was to get so pissed I can’t see straight, and then get laid. Not necessarily in that order.”

“He would!”

They both laughed.

“So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Get pissed and get laid?”

Ianto laughed again, but there was a note of uneasiness in it this time. It hadn’t been long after Owen had made that comment that he and Jack had resumed their physical relationship. That off-hand remark hadn’t been why of course, but he didn’t want to seem to make light of a decision that hadn’t been lightly-taken at all.

“Not that night, no,” Ianto hedged.

“But a night soon after that?” Jack persisted.

“You know the answer to that already, Sir,” Ianto said.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Jack grinned, the far-away look in his eye showing he was recalling that time as well. The grin faded quickly, to be replaced by a troubled look.

Jack crouched down so that he was kneeling in front of Ianto. He touched Ianto’s cheek again, causing Ianto to look up, into his eyes.

“About that time. I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time but… wow, this isn’t easy. Ianto, I’m sorry about Lisa.”

Ianto blinked. Though it was perhaps an obvious thing to say given that today was the anniversary of the beginning of her end, Ianto hadn’t been expecting it. Not from Jack.

Jack had never apologized for his actions on the day he had killed her—at least not in a way that sounded like he meant it.

He had shouted “I’m so sorry” as he had dragged Ianto onto the Invisible Lift and left Lisa to be mauled by the Pterodactyl.

He had added an “I’m really sorry” almost as an afterthought to a diatribe he had given justifying his orders shortly after they’d cremated her remains, right before he’d sent Ianto on suspension. To a stunned, numb Ianto, it hadn’t meant a thing. If anything, it had seemed like Jack had been trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Jack had never before said it with such simple sincerity, and for a moment Ianto was afraid he might start weeping again. He had been doing his best not to think about Lisa’s death today, preferring instead to relive happy memories. Every time an unpleasant one arose, he swapped it out for a better one. Lisa lying in the conversion unit became Lisa huddled in the sleeping bag on their beach camping trip, inviting him to join her with a come-hither smile. Lisa rampaging through the Hub hell-bent on killing them all became Lisa in form-fitting lycra leggings jogging in the park, teasing him about not being able to keep up (he had replied that he preferred the view from behind, and that's why he was lagging.)  And so on.  
  
But now, Jack’s courage in addressing the issue prompted him to mentally reach inside to touch the sore spot where her memory lived, rather like a tongue testing a loose tooth to see how much it hurt. The pain wasn’t as bad as he’d feared it would be.

It was still there, but it wasn't the viscous bite he was expecting. It was more of a dull ache, throbbing and familiar, like the jagged tooth was gone and the skin had started to heal over. He hadn't noticed when the healing had started, exactly, but clearly, it had.

 “Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that. I’m sorry too, about your friend.”

“She’s not dead.”

“I heard.”

“Then what are you sorry for?”

“You suffered. If she was there, she suffered. I’m sorry for that.”

Jack looked at him. The pain and compassion Ianto saw in his eyes made something in Ianto’s chest clench.

“Perhaps someday you’ll tell me about her,” Ianto said. “She seems like a remarkable person, Sir.”

“She was—is. And someday I will. I promise.” They regarded each other for a long moment.

Ianto finally looked away. He felt so damn vulnerable, like he had been scraped raw, and any contact, even eye contact, hurt.

“I didn’t know it was going to be this hard,” he admitted.

Jack reached out and pulled Ianto into another embrace. “Me neither,” he said.

Ianto turned his face to peer at Jack with one eye. “Really, Sir?  You’ve had so much experience with this sort of thing.”

“Doesn’t matter. The pain catches me by surprise, every time. I owe Gwen an apology, for sure. I nearly took her head off back there. But it’s easier to be angry than hurt, you know?”

“I do. So what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She came in here wanting some access code or another, and when I blew her off, she accused me of not caring about Torchwood.”

“A poor choice of words, Sir.”

“No, it was the perfect choice of words--to get my attention. She knew exactly what she was  doing. But she got more than she bargained for when I decided to tell her what her precious “Torchwood”, specifically London, was responsible for. At top volume."

“You can be quite fearsome, Sir. Still, I think it’s better that she know the whole truth. She’s part of the Team now Jack, has been for nearly a year. You don’t have to protect her.”

“Wrong, Ianto. I have to protect all of you.”

“Not from the truth, Sir. Never from the truth.”

“Huh,” Jack grunted. “Maybe.”

Ianto sighed, knowing the secretive man wasn’t likely to change any time soon. But at least he hadn't abruptly changed the subject, as was his wont. It was a start.

Ianto snaked an arm around Jack’s waist.

“I’m sure Gwen will understand, Sir.”

Jack smiled and wrapped his arms around Ianto’s shoulders.

“Ianto?”

“Yes?”

“I thought we were going to try to lose the ‘Sir’.”

Ianto laughed, a surprised, barking laugh. “Only you could think of that at a time like this, Si--Jack. Besides, I only recall you asking. I don't recall ever agreeing.”

Jack laughed too.

They sat like that, Ianto in the chair and Jack kneeling beside him, with their arms around each other, for a long while.

  
  
 _14:15_  
  
So much time had passed that Owen began to get concerned.

Gwen had left nearly an hour ago, shaking and so upset she could barely speak. Well, it was her own fault. Owen had told her not to beard the lion in his den, but she had been adamant. Was Jack now giving Ianto he same treatment? It didn’t seem like it, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure. Owen crept up the stairs and peeked between the blinds.

Seeing the two men sat leaning against each other with their arms entwined brought a lump to his throat.

“Oi,” he thought, fighting down an unwelcome swell of feeling that had risen in his chest. He turned and scampered back down the stairs, muttering to himself.

“Stupid anniversary. I’ll be glad to see the back of it!”

“Are they all right?” Tosh inquired when Owen came back downstairs.

“Sure. Fucking like rabbits,” Owen replied cheerfully.

“Owen, really!” Tosh shook her head.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. The boss is a horn-dog, and Ianto’s just as bad. It’s _me_ you should be worried about. I haven’t gotten laid in ages.”

“And whose fault is that?” teased Tosh.

“Mine, clearly. I’ve been working too hard, not getting out enough. Want to go for a drink?”

“Me?”

“You see anyone else here? Besides, I already bought Gwen one today. It’s only fair.”

“That’d be lovely. Let me just get my coat.”

Outside on the Plass, a lone bagpiper played a mournful song in honor of the victims of Canary Wharf.

“Oh, that’s beautiful." Tosh breathed. "I wish Ianto could hear it. Maybe we should phone him, get him to come down?"

“Nah, he’s good right where he is.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. He’s with Jack. He’ll be all right,” Owen said.

As he said it, he realized it was true.

 


End file.
